Final Straw
by emerald-soco
Summary: She's eighteen years old and she isn't ready to die yet. Ensemble fic, Brookecentric.


So, yes, I should be working on the dozen other stories I've started, but this one grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go. I'm just posting this first chapter to see if anyone's interested, so continuing will depend on reviews. Obviously the rest of the story will go back in time and trace Brooke's illness from beginning to end. If you're interested, leave some feedback and I'll keep writing!

**How To Be Dead**

_It's hardly what I'd be doing_

_If you gave me the choice_

In her final moments, Brooke Davis is peaceful.

She spent eighteen years bring loud and proud; a five-foot-three fusion of energy and heat. There was always a spring in her step, a light in her eyes. When she laughed, the sound was big and bright, and if she was upset, her entire body trembled.

But on the second morning of April, she is quiet. Her room is not. There is the steady beeping of machines, the distant noise of traffic outside the window. A television suspended from the ceiling broadcasts Regis and Kelly's witty banter. In the chair at her side, Lucas has drifted off to sleep, snoring lightly.

As she watches, he stirs and his eyes flutter open, finding hers immediately. He straightens up, smiles. "Hi."

Brooke's mouth curves up in response. "Hi."

They stay silent for a moment, studying each other. It's something he's caught himself doing lately, trying to memorize every detail of her face. As if his head has finally accepted the fact that she won't always be here and now his heart just has to catch up.

"It was a good few months," Brooke finally says, squeezing his hand. She's weak, so the pressure is barely there, like butterfly wings brushing up against his palm. "Thank you."

"Don't say it like that," he says, raising her knuckles to his lips. "Like it's over."

"Luke." There's a mild reproach in her tone. "You have to let me go."

"I know." He sighs, looks away. They've had this conversation before. They're not together and haven't been for a long time, but how can Lucas not love the girl who taught him so much about life? And death, now. "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?"

Brooke shakes her head. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"You should rest some more." He leans to kiss her forehead, pretends not to notice how translucent her skin has become. Like she's made of glass rather than fire and nerves and heart.

She nods slowly, licks her lips. "Luke ... make sure everyone gets over me, okay? I mean, God knows I love to be the center of attention, but this time ... just remind them I wasn't so great."

"You were." He presses his lips together in a thin line, corrects himself. "You _are_."

"Maybe," she allows, giving him a tiny grin. "Sometimes. I'm okay with the mistakes I've made. You know, you and Peyton and Hales and Nate, you guys are my proof that I did something right. That people could love me. So all I need from you guys is that you keep going. Okay?"

"I will." He doesn't know how they'll even _begin _to move on, but he'd give her the moon if that's what she wanted. "We will."

"Good." The matter settled, Brooke leans back into her pillow, lets her eyes fall closed. "I need a nap. You gonna stick around?"

"I'll be here," he promises, the same vow he'd made when she first confessed her illness to him. "I'll stay as long as you need."

Her fingers press up against his again, then her grip relaxes. She sighs, soft and low, a sound of contentment. And she sleeps.

XXX

It rains on the day of the funeral, and Lucas thinks Brooke would have laughed at that. Would've patted his cheek and said something like, "Matches your mood, Broody," and strolled away with her hips swinging. It's a comforting thought, though not much of one.

He sits in the front row at the church service, his friends lined up beside him. Peyton's shoulders are shaking with the effort it is taking to remain standing. Haley is small and miserable-looking, tucked under a somber Nathan's arm.

The priest says a lot of things that Lucas doesn't necessarily believe, but he hopes for Brooke's sake that they're true. He hopes Heaven exists and angels sang her in and that she'll never feel pain again, because she's been hurt enough in this lifetime.

When it's time for the mourners to share their stories about Brooke, it is Karen who approaches the alter first.

"Brooke Davis was not my daughter," she tells the crowd. "But I'm as proud of her as a mother can be. When my son first brought Brooke home to me, I thought, now here is a girl who knows exactly what she's doing, but doesn't have any idea why."

She smiles fondly at the memory. "And I got to watch as she came to understand herself and find her place in this world and that was just ... the best thing I could have hoped for her." Karen blinks back her tears, clears her throat. "Even though she doesn't get to grow old, Brooke did have a chance to grow up. And I'm grateful for that."

Nathan goes next, squeezing Haley's arm before letting go. He takes a minute to collect his thoughts at the podium and then says, rather bluntly, "Brooke made mistakes."

The crowd shifts uncomfortably, but Lucas stares straight ahead at his younger brother, knowing there is more to come.

"We all do," Nathan continues. "But Brooke, she had a knack for them. The thing is, she was always willing to admit when she was wrong. And to try and fix things, if she could. And I think that has to count for something." He stops then, and has to swallow hard before finishing, "I think that counts for a lot."

He returns to his seat, switching places with his wife as she makes her way to the front of the room. Haley's progress is slow, her pregnancy in its late stages, but everyone waits quietly for her to speak.

"Brooke was smart. And funny, which is really unfair because she was also incredibly beautiful." Haley pauses to let a chuckle pass through the crowd. "She was the best kind of person because she knew what it felt like to be let down, to feel scared or sad or lonely. And she would _never _let you feel that way.

"Even when she was sick, she wouldn't let us be sad. If we wanted to cry, she made us laugh. If we wanted to give up, she gave us a reason to go on. That kind of courage, that kind of compassion, those things are so rare." She has to stop again, take a breath. "I just ... I just wish she could still be here. I - I'm sorry."

She hurries back to her seat, the tears already falling, and finds refuge in her husband's waiting arms. Lucas touches her shoulder gently, hating to watch another friend break, then makes his way to the podium.

He bows his head, thinks for a minute. Earlier, he hadn't thought there were words to describe the girl he'd lost, but they come to him as if he's always known.

"Brooke was never the easiest person to love, but she was always the best at loving." He pauses, and one corner of his mouth twists up. "And I know, if she were her, she would turn that into a dirty joke, but it's the truth. If you were lucky enough to have Brooke Davis on your side, well, then ... you were lucky."

He stares out at the sea of faces; at his mother, standing stoically; at his brother and best friend, taking strength from each other; at Peyton, her eyes dark and wet. "We were _all _lucky."

The priest comes forward again, clasping his hands in front of him. "Thank you. Would anyone else like to speak before we proceed to the burial ground?"

Beside him, Lucas feels Peyton stiffen, then step forward. "I would."

The church goes still once more as the blonde girl takes her place at the alter. Her skin is pale against her black dress, like the slightest touch could leave a bruise. Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly a few times before she finds her voice.

"In eighteen years of being her best friend, I never once saw Brooke in a situation that she couldn't handle. She was brave, and confident, and I always envied her that. No matter what life threw at her, she was tough. She could take it. She could take anything."

She's silent for a minute, just standing there and rocking slightly back and forth on her heels, and it's almost peaceful. A lone tear runs down her cheek. "I just - I just don't understand it. She was always the strong one." Her eyes scan their faces, searching for an explanation, beseeching someone to make her understand. "How did this happen?"


End file.
